Anders Veilgard and the Snakewood Wand
by Aarondight
Summary: Set in 1960, this prequel features Anders Veilgard, a young but senior Auror at MACUSA, who is assigned an undercover mission at Ilvermorny School that revolves around attempting to prevent a possible break in that his department has been alerted to by Albus Dumbledore. Other characters and relations that were alive in the 60s may appear. This is my first story, enjoy and comment.
1. Chapter 1

_Anders Veilgard! Anders Veilgard! Anders Veilgard_

Anders looked up from the parchment on his desk as he heard his name being wailed. Who it was that was bothering him this late into his day was beyond him, especially as he was finishing up paperwork that would finally help the court send Katrina Jacobs, one of the more notorious illegal artifact smugglers in the country, to prison for a long time.

The noise, it turned out, was coming from a red paper airplane, zooming toward him from the front door of the large open space that housed the office cubicles belonging to MACUSA's senior aurors.

Accio Memo, Anders thought, and the paper airplane gained speed, flying obediently into his outstretched hand.

The memo was sealed, a bold black print spelling "For Your Eyes Only" appearing over the seams. Anders tapped it with his wand and the sealing charm broke, unfolding into a small scroll of parchment.

It held, Anders saw, only 2 lines.

_Andy_

_Please come to my office as soon as you receive this letter. We have a, um, visitor who has brought some rather distressing news. I'd like to assign you to the case. _

_Thank you_

_H_

The handwriting was a dark, loopy scrawl that Anders had come to recognize as that of his department head, Howard Lopez. That, in and of itself, raised a few questions.

First, why was Howie sending him the memo, going over the head of James Picqueray, the Auror Commissioner? It wasn't inappropriate, per se, and Rob Lopez was a good friend of his mother and late father, but the Director of Magical Security wasn't known as much of a micromanager. If he needed an Auror, or Aurors, to get something done, he'd go through the Commissioner.

Second, why him? Single Aurors rarely went out on important cases alone, even if they were senior and there were far too many more senior Aurors in the department. A possible answer, thought Anders, was trust. Perhaps he needed someone he could trust implicitly? That warmed his soul a bit.

But that raised a third question. If this was so important that Howie needed a trusted, senior Auror to handle this, then it must be something serious. And if it was something serious, then who the hell was this visitor?

Anders stood. Best not to keep them waiting, he thought, and felt his way into the apparition.

He appeared outside Howard Lopez's office and knocked once on a glass panel door that read Howard Lopez, Director of Magical Security.

"Enter," he heard Howie say, and pushed open the door.

The view inside was not exactly what he was expecting.

Howard Lopez was at his desk, a steaming mug of coffee on his left, and his wand on his right. A stack of parchment lay in the middle, but he wasn't looking at the sheets. Instead, he appeared to have been in conversation with the three people occupying the four chintz armchairs arrayed around it's other side.

Furthest from Anders was his immediate boss, James Picqueray. This, at least, explained why Howie had written the note. Picqueray was a tall, dark skinned man, greatly resembling his aunt Seraphina, and bore a grim expression on his face as he looked right at Anders.

Next to him, sitting with her feet crossed, was the President of MACUSA, Jennifer Fontaine. She had previously owned the office now occupied by Howie, and her face bore a white scar that had been left there by curse from one of Grindelwald's followers. Like Picqueray, her expression was grim, though Anders noticed an underlying disbelief in it.

The third person was their guest, and Anders instantly understood why the message from Howie had been "For Your Eyes Only". The man in the closest armchair to Anders was a tall, thin wizard with a graying auburn beard that reached almost to his waist and was matched only by the mane of hair falling down his back. He had a crooked nose, one that looked like it had been broken sometime in the past and never fully healed, and piercing blue eyes, barely covered by a pair of half-moon spectacles.

This visage, so familiar from his issues of Transfiguration Today, was that of Albus Dumbledore. Dubledore the Hero, the man who had defeated Grindelwald. And he was looking right at him, more intently than anyone Anders had ever met.

"I've heard quite a bit about you Mr. Veilgard," he said, his English clear, his RP accent perfect, and waved his hand over the empty armchair, inviting him to take a seat.

"You have?" asked Anders, raising an eyebrow. It was not a gesture that came naturally to him, and he'd spent several days in his 3rd year teaching himself. He found it useful for when there was not much to say.

"Indeed," replied Dumbledore, showing Anders a crooked smile. "I am, you know, a transfiguration professor, Mr. Veilgard. I read your article about live creature transfiguration and its use in duels in Transfiguration Today. I found it to be an interesting perspective."

Howard cleared his throat slightly and drew attention to himself.

"I hate to interrupt, but if things are as dire as you suggest, Albus, I'd like Anders on his way as soon as possible. So, in the interest of time, would you please repeat what you've told us to him?"

"Of course," said Dumbledore, nodding and turning back to Anders.

"Howard has, unfortunately, misunderstood me. Dire is not, quite, the word I'd use. If it was, I'd be going myself, and with a team of Aurors for backup. As things are, however, I don't really know if that's necessary. Thus I only ask for one Auror, but stipulate that it be one that…can take care of himself."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands in front of his chest. His glasses slid slightly down his nose so that he peered above them.

"How well do you know the history of magic in the United States, Mr. Veilgard?" asked Dumbledore and Anders felt his face heat slightly.

The truth of it was that Professor Janice Verity, Ilvermorny's Professor of American Magical History, was a dreadfully boring woman. Thus, he only knew the highlights, not the true details.

"Not very well, Dumbledore," said Anders, "Not as well as you would like me to, at least."

Dumbledore laughed. "At least you've given me an honest man, Howard," he said.

"Very well then, Mr. Veilgard. Instead, then, tell me this: how well do you know herbology? As I understand it, potions, like in Britain, is a requirement for Auror training here in America. Thus, herbology is, as well?"

"Yes," answered Anders. Herbology had been his weakest subject of the 5 he had taken to become an Auror, but that was relative.

"Very good. Very good. I myself was never much good at it when I was in school, so perhaps you can confirm my suspicions for me. Snakewood, such as the one tree found in the yard at Ilvermorny, isn't exactly native to Massachusets, correct?"

Anders thought about it. The more he thought, the weirder it became. Snakewood was a rare tree indeed for Massachusetts. South America, not so much. But as far as he knew, only one grew in the entirety of the northeast. It was a massive tree, that one, and he'd often studied in its shadow.

"It's not," he said cautiously. "But why does it matter?"

"Well," replied Dumbledore, "here is where guesswork comes in. Last year, a young man disappeared from his job working acquisitions for a shop called Borgin and Burkes. Howard has told me you'd be familiar with its wares? In any event, this young man, Tom Marvolo Riddle, was one of Hogwarts' most brilliant students. "

"If he was that brilliant, why was he working in a shop peddling dark artefacts?" interrupted Anders and Dumbledore smiled again.

"That is a question," he began, "many have asked themselves over the last 2 decades or so. Tom was a model student. Handsome, charismatic, popular, intelligent. Prefect and Head Boy. He won several awards. One of my colleagues even predicted to me he'd become Minister within 20 years of graduating. It's safe to say that, at least on that count, Horace was quite wrong indeed."

"Tom, for as long as I have known him, has been fascinated with two things: his family and magical artefacts. Note his middle name, Marvolo. Very uncommon. In fact, I personally only know of one. That was Marvolo Gaunt. I must confess that I've researched Tom since his disappearance and believe Marvolo Gaunt to be his grandfather."

"Gaunt's a name that sounds familiar," replied Anders.

"It should," said Picqueray, who Anders had quite forgotten was there, to him. "A Gaunt, specifically, Gormlaith, is supposedly the person who attacked Isolt Sayre, and whose wand is responsible for that very tree Dumbledore mentioned.

Anders quickly put two and two together. "Dumbledore, you think he's here to try to get that wand back? You think he believes he can use it?"

Dumbledore sighed and turned to Howard. "If that were the case," said Howard, "we WOULD be going to Ilvermorny with a squad of Aurors, and probably twice that number of MLE personnel. Won't take any chances, you know."

"Unfortunately," said Dumbledore, "we're not sure if that is the case. President Fontaine does not wish to concern the students, staff and parents of Ilvermorny when it is unnecessary."

He took out what looked like a muggle photograph from an interior pocket of his robes. It had a large red circle on it.

"That him?" Asked Anders,

"This man," said Dumbledore, and pointed to the man circled in red ink, "is not Riddle. That is Vincent Rosier."

That name was definitely familiar, and Anders stole a glance at President Fontaine. Vinda Rosier had given her that scar. She'd also been at Grindelwald's side when he'd killed his father and that Bulgarian Auror, Krum.

"Rosier," continued Dumbledore, "was part of Riddle's group of friends. He never went anywhere important without them, and Rosier isn't known to be a big international traveler. That raises the question of what he's doing here."

He pointed at two more people in the photograph, their hats obscuring their faces. "Do you notice anything, Anders?"

The other two, a man and a woman, were walking slightly behind Rosier, hands tucked into the pockets of their overcoats. For a moment, Anders had no idea what Dumbledore was talking about, but then, with another glance up at the president, he saw it.

He had, more than once, accompanied President Fontaine outside MACUSA headquarters, and the way these three were positioned in the photo mimicked the way Anders had been instructed to guard VIPs.

"They're in a guard formation. Is he under an invisibility cloak? Dissilusionment charm?" he asked.

Dumbledore nodded. "Of that, Mr. Veilgard, I am unsure."

Now Howard turned to Anders.

"Andy, this mission is of a more…precautionary nature then I would normally assign an Auror to. However, we've been burned in the past by not believing Albus here, and the President, James and myself all believe it's better to be safe than sorry. We're sending you to Ilvermorny, under cover as a teacher."

Anders cocked an eyebrow.

"Me," he asked, "teach?"

Howard smiled. "Headmistress Jones has agreed to host, and the Congress has chosen to fund, a special course for 6th and 7th year students at Ilvermorny who wish to go into Magical law enforcement. You would be working under the Defense professor as a special instructor in Magical combat. Not spells, mind you. They should already know those. Tactics. You will teach them how to fight and survive, while at the same time, watching for this Riddle character."

Anders laughed. They had to be pulling his leg. _Him? _Teach_? Unbelievable_.

"We're serious, Anders," said Fontaine and Anders' head jerked up to look at her.

"Yes, Madam President," he replied, his face turning serious. "When do I start?"


	2. Chapter 2

The trip home that day was one of the longest in Anders' relatively short time having a real job.

It wasn't that it took long, time wise. He always went the same way on Fridays, using the No-Maj NYC train system to get home as it would be weird, not to mention still illegal, for him to apparate into a No-Maj wine shop.

It took long because he knew he'd be going on a potentially dangerous mission completely alone, and he wasn't sure how to break the news to his wife.

He entered the wine store, and its owner, Mr. Phillips, looked up from the counter.

"The usual, Andy?" asked the kindly old No-Maj and Anders nodded. He'd stopped in the store every Friday for the 2 years that he and Angie had lived in their apartment on the corner of 20th and 84th Streets and the owner knew him well, though did not know he was a wizard.

"The usual," replied Anders and Mr. Phillips pulled a dark black bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and put it in a bag.

Though they both worked at the Congress, they worked slightly different duty shifts, and Anders and Angie had decided before they were even married that Friday nights would be just for them (and their children when they had them). Every Friday, Angie would come home before him and cook something spectacular for dinner. He, meanwhile, was responsible for the wine.

He paid the man in No-Maj money, US Dollars, and stepped out of the store. His apartment, on the 6th floor of a relatively new building, was only a short walk away from both the store and the train station.

He took the stairs up, as he always did.

"Angie!" called Anders as he opened the front door of his apartment.

"I'm in the kitchen," he heard back and he pushed off his boots, leaving them in the foyer. He made his way to the kitchen and as he entered it, he was hit by the smell of his wife's cooking. He smiled. Angie was a wonderful cook, and the beef wellington she had made stood in the middle of their kitchen table, its buttery crust glistening under the kitchen light.

"That looks delicious, babe," he said, wrapping his arms around her waist and giving the back of her neck a quick kiss.

She really was, he thought, a beautiful woman. Angelica Veilgard was tall, almost as tall as Anders himself, and slender. A lithe, intelligent brunette, who'd captured the hearts of every boy at Ilvermorny when they'd been students. Yet she'd only ever had eyes for him. They'd been inseparable since their 1st day at the school, first as friends, and then, starting their 5th year, dating.

Anders chuckled softly as he remembered that day in the second week of their 5th year. He and Angie were studying beneath the snakewood tree. Well, in reality, _she_ was probably studying. He was just busy staring at her and trying to decide whether he should risk 4 years of friendship on a crush he was sure she didn't reciprocate.

After all, what would the most beautiful girl in school have seen a nerd like him except a friend.

"The answer's yes, by the way," she'd told him then, looking up from her book, her tone carrying no hint of doubt about her feelings. He had, of course, been blinded by his crush, and forgotten her talent as a legilimens. Then she'd kissed him hard on the lips and run off while he sat there, too stunned to follow.

"So," said Angie, without turning away from the stove on which her wand stirred a bowl of some kind of soup, "what's bothering you?"

"Huh?" asked Anders.

"You never use occlumency at home, Andy," she replied, finally turning to face him and wagging a finger in his face. She flashed a brilliant smile and kissed him fully on the lips. _Speak_ – _no_ – _think of the devil_, thought Anders. _Of course I would forget tonight. _

"You, my dear," said Anders when she broke the kiss, "know me entirely too well for my own good."

"That's what you get marrying an Obliviator," she replied.

"That can be rectified, you know," he teased and kissed her forehead.

"Rascal," she teased back and tapped him on the nose with her finger. "But really, Andy, what's going on?"

Her face had turned serious and Anders let go of her waist. He leaned against the table. "I've got a mission, Ange. Big one, and one I'm going on solo."

"And let me guess," she said, in a knowing voice, "you can't tell me where you're going or what you're doing? I am used to it by now."

"Actually," replied Anders, cocking an eyebrow, "I can tell you some. I'm going to Ilvermorny and will be teaching a special class to 6th and 7th years: a combat tactics elective for those who wish to join the Aurors."

"A solid cover if there ever was one," his wife observed. "Can't tell me what you're really doing, can you?"

"As far as I know, I'll really be teaching. The class had been scheduled last year and there was talk of having someone from the French ministry coming over as the teacher. You know how they like their fancy dueling in Paris," said Anders truthfully. "I'm there as a precaution, really. Someone, and while I do know, I can't tell you who as its 'Need to Know', tipped off MACUSA to something that may or may not happen, and the President's taking it seriously. I'm supposed be mostly an insurance policy."

"I can, actually, – can you grab some plates, please – see you teaching, Andy," she replied, her eyes laughing, and Anders gave his wand a wave that pulled 2 plates, 2 sets of utensils and two wine glasses from the cupboard above the stove and set them neatly on opposite ends of the table. The bottle he'd purchased landed squarely between the two settings and he flicked his wrist again to open it.

He poured their glasses by hand, just as she used her hands, instead of her wand, to pour the soup and cut the beef. It was a weird affectation for two pureblood wizards to have, but the two of them, he thought, seemed to relish every time they could do something without magic for each other. For example, he would buy her flowers instead of conjuring them, and she would cook the beef in an oven instead of simply casting a heating charm on it in mid-air. Anders supposed that to a No-Maj, the chance to impress someone with magic would create a similar feeling.

"So," asked Anders as dinner wound down some time later, "what makes you think I can teach?"

"Do you want an honest answer?" asked his wife and Anders raised his right hand in an inviting gesture, palm facing up.

"Well," she continued, her voice considering, "you can't really teach how to fight in a classroom, and you know that. At the same time, you _do_ know that, unlike a theorist. You can show them what not to do, I think."

"Yes, but I won't be able to pass on the danger of combat. You know as well as I do, Angie. You can't really pass on the feeling of some asshole firing Avada Kedavras at your head."

"Once again, dear: You know that," she said. "Think about what the difference between you, and, say, Filius Flitwick is."

Anders thought. Flitwick was a professional duelist. Yet for him, dueling was a competition. An art. He was never in danger of actually dying, though he had seen combat during the war. Flitwick, and, by and large, most wizards, did their best to go for the spectacular in duels: when you weren't aiming to kill, making your attacks look nice was acceptable.

In an actual fight, however, going for the kill was paramount. He could sacrifice, say, his shoulder, in order to get in a shot at his opponents head. A simple stunner to the chest was just as effective as surrounding an opponent in a tornado of flames.

"I'd have to change how they think," he realized. "But Angie, why do you think I can do that? They've been taught their whole lives to work one way. How would I change that in one year. Besides, I only have a few years on the oldest of them."

"You're an Auror. Don't forget that, because, like it or not, it gives you a certain…appeal."

She said that with a wink and Anders smirked.

"What?" she exclaimed. "You're going to tell me that being an Auror isn't a 'sexy' job? _Puh-lease._ Those students will want to be you. They'll hang on to your every word."

As she said that, she stood from her chair and wrapped her arms around him. Suddenly he could smell her freshly washed hair and his arms reacted with the goosebumps they always seemed to have at her touch as she reached her hands into his shirt to massage his chest, and then his abs.

"That," he said, turning, and scooping her now laughing self into his arms, "is, as long as they don't get distracted."

The next morning, Anders awoke with a rather bright feeling.

He carefully extricated himself from Angie's body and went into the bathroom.

_Don't get distracted_ he thought, looking into the mirror above the sink. _God, that's got to be the lamest one liner you've ever used, Veilgard._ It had worked in his favor though, and success, especially of the type he'd experienced the night before, was still the meterstick by which methods were judged.

"You seem to be very full of yourself this morning, Anders" he heard a voice say behind him and turned to see his wife leaning against the doorframe. She was wearing a silk robe, tied around her waist in such a way as to be almost completely open in its top half. "I imagine I had something to do with it?"

Anders laughed and kissed her.

"So, when do you have to go to Ilvermorny?" she asked. "I didn't get a chance to ask that last night."

"I imagine I had something to do with that," said Anders, deliberately using her own words.

"Actually," he said more soberly, "I don't really know. I think teachers had to report about 3 weeks before classes start. You know, to start getting the classrooms ready, and to get lesson plans approved by the headmaster's office. Administrative BS."

Right that very second, he heard a knocking on their bedroom window and looked out to see an owl perched on the windowsill, a blue envelope tied to its right leg.

"Speak of the devil," Anders muttered and opened the window.

A few minutes later, Anders had taken out a folded sheet of parchment and opened it on their kitchen table as his wife made breakfast.

"Well," he said to no one in particular, "_this _brings me back."

The letter, written in thick black letters on the yellow sheet, bore the clover-like crest of Ilvermorny at its top.

_Dear Anders._

_I thank you for accepting the position of Associate Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I mean that. I truly do. _

_Needless to say, I have been fully briefed by the Congress as to your actual job while you are here. At the same time, as Headmistress, I do expect you to actually teach the class, and not just focus on protecting the school._

_To that end, I plan on treating you no differently from any of the other professors. _

_If you are going to be using a book for your class, please send me its name so I can put in an order with Flourish and Blotts here in New York._

_If, as I suspect, you are not, then simply send me a prospective curriculum for the year no later than August 5__th__ so that I can review it. _

_I'm including in this letter a list of your students, as well as their marks in the Auror pre-req classes and comments made by their professors. _

_Good luck, _Professor_._

_Serenity Jones, Headmistress, Ilvermony School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

The second sheet of parchment was far longer, almost 3 feet, and contained the promised list of names.

Most of the students were, as he expected, boys, and Anders thought he recognized some of the names as those of his older colleagues' children.

He turned to his wife.

"Well, it's real now. Guess I better start writing that curriculum, then," he said.


End file.
